


Party Favors

by flitwickslittlebrotha



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blowjobs, House Party, Joly and Bossuet are brothers for some reason, M/M, Never Have I Ever, Pining, Seven Minutes In Heaven Game, Unresolved Emotional Tension, somewhat resolved sexual tension, they're all of age though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitwickslittlebrotha/pseuds/flitwickslittlebrotha
Summary: Grantaire tried to kiss Enjolras after Debate Club one day, and now they're pretending it didn't happen.Or, they'd like to pretend it didn't happen, except Courfeyrac is hosting a house party and things are getting out of hand.A multi-chapter turned one-shot turned tri-chapter which will likely join a series one day.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a piece of a multi-chapter story: the beginning taking place at the high school, during which the now-unseen attempt at kissing happened, the middle being this story here, and the end taking place at the high school again, resolving the story.
> 
> For now I offer you these three middle chapters instead, with my trademark Ambiguous Backstory and Ambiguous Ending.
> 
> I do like the concept of this verse, though, and very likely will expand on it one day with both a prequel and a sequel.

Courfeyrac had told his parents the party would just be for the debate club. They had believed him, and so had Enjolras. Clearly, it had been a lie.

Every window in that massive house was illuminated, and bodies were moving behind each of them. The music was muffled within those thick stone walls, but the bass was still thumping, reverberating through the street. It was easily the biggest party Enjolras had seen in his short teenage life.

He groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. _Whatever_ , he thought, _maybe this means I won’t bump into Grantaire._ The second the name entered his mind it bounced around in his consciousness, like a song he couldn’t get out of his head. It was just one night, just one party, and there would be a huge buffer of people – he could do this.

He opened that grand door and found himself face to face with Grantaire.

“Lovely,” he said, and immediately turned back toward the road.

A fist found his shirt collar and spun him around. He hadn’t known Grantaire was that strong.

“Don’t make this weird,” Grantaire said in a low voice.

“Me? Wouldn’t dream of it,” Enjolras replied. He knew he was being dramatic, but he couldn’t help feeling unsettled and slightly panicked. Really, he didn’t know why. Grantaire had been nothing but cordial since that weird night they’d almost kissed. He hadn’t attempted it again, nor had he been particularly flirty or fighty. _Enjolras_ was the one making it weird, and he hated that Grantaire knew it.

“Courf’s in the back, he’ll be thrilled to see you,” Grantaire said, releasing him.

Enjolras nodded, feeling embarrassed by Grantaire’s cool demeanor, and trailed his way through the familiar hallways. The unfamiliar part, of course, was all the other people he passed by.

It looked like the whole senior grade was there, and maybe some of the younger kids, too. The mansion, which was quite large, was filled to the max. Luckily things didn’t look too out of hand. Sure, there was a keg stand set up next to the grand piano, but things were a lot tamer than he’d seen in the movies. Mostly it was people getting drunk off a single sip of alcohol and flirting their way into disaster.

He found the man of the hour sitting happily on the kitchen counter.

“Courf, hey,” he said, grateful for the familiar face.

“Enjy-baby!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, hopping down and pulling Enjolras in for a hug. Enjolras was happy to smell sugar on his breath, not beer. In fact, when Courfeyrac pulled away he seemed far more into it than Enjolras would have expected. Courfeyrac must have noticed his less-than-subtle examination, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke. “Someone’s gotta stay on top of things in this mess.”

“Not much of a mess, you’re doing well so far,” Enjolras commended. Courfeyrac nodded his thanks.

“You’re on the early side,” he said, which – given how many people were already at the party – frightened Enjolras. “Combeferre’s up in my room with Joly and Bossuet and Jehan texted he was on his way. Oh, and Grantaire’s around here somewhere,” he finished. He leaned in, waggling his eyebrows, and Enjolras felt a wink coming. Courfeyrac huffed in frustration when Enjolras refused to bite the bait and threw his hands up in exasperation. “Oh, come on! That last debate on Monday was basically foreplay! You guys have got it bad and it’s absolutely ridiculous that you can’t see it.”

“Courf,” Enjolras said, voice low and steady and altogether venomous. He knew how this conversation went, and he didn’t want to be having it. “I have told you repeatedly. It makes me uncomfortable when you talk about us that way, you know there’s nothing –”

“Don’t say there’s nothing going on—”

“Courf, I’m serious!”

“Don’t say that!” They were jumping over each other’s sentences, voices rising to gain the upper hand. Enjolras felt the conversation spiraling out of control, and quite frankly, he blamed Grantaire for ruining this party before it even started. “Fine, I’ll stay out of it," Courfeyrac relented, "but don’t tell me there’s nothing going on. If you don’t want to admit it that’s your problem, but don’t speak for Grantaire.”

“You have no idea—”

“I do—”

“How could you know more than me what he’s—”

“Because you treat him like shit!” And that shut Enjolras up. Courfeyrac had gone from defense to offense in a flash, and Enjolras was caught off guard. “You’ve known him since we were all kids, and you never listen to him, never talk to him. How could you possibly know what he’s feeling?”

And then suddenly, all of his rage was flooding back, swirling with memories of near-confessions and almost-kisses. And that rage was pointed at Courfeyrac, who had the gall to stand there and lecture Enjolras on something he had _told_ him to stay out of, something he had no part in.

“You know what, Courfeyrac? I actually don’t give a shit about your opinion.” Courfeyrac’s eyes had widened and Enjolras could feel himself saying something he was about to regret, but the dam had broken open and there was no stopping the flood of words. “If you can’t respect my boundaries then what kind of friend are you, huh? Is that why you’re having his ridiculous party? To get people to like you? Because even with the silly jokes and high fives you’ve realized you can’t buy your way into friendship like you buy your way into everything else in life? Maybe you’ve realized you’re a shit friend and you’re on the market for some new ones, well guess what? I hope you do, because I’m done with this.”

He walked past Courfeyrac, into the hallway he used to run down in his pajamas, toward the staircase he had tripped over as a kid and gotten a scar on his knee. He walked through the house that he knew like the back of his hand, like he knew the boy he’d just dismissed. He didn’t look back, too horrified at the thought of the expression he’d see. He just kept walking, toward the staircase and the second floor and the bedroom he’d had countless sleepovers in, toward Combeferre and Bossuet and Joly who would pat his back and tell him it would be alright.

He made it one stair up.

“Enjolras?”

He paused, sighing. He felt the strings in him tethering tight, threatening to break, and if Grantaire’s expression had half the concern his voice had, he knew he would start crying.

And since he refused to start crying in front of Grantaire at a house party with their entire grade in attendance, Enjolras kept his back turned, one foot up, hand on the rail.

“Grantaire?”

“Are… you okay?” He thought he felt the ghost of a touch on the back of his shirt, but even if he had, it was gone.

“Fine. Just heading up to see Combeferre.” A pause, and he thought perhaps Grantaire had left. But then he spoke again.

“Okay. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Enjolras nodded to the staircase, then kept walking up. He tried not to read into it. He told himself Grantaire was already planning on joining the small group in the bedroom. That he was already on his way to do something first, though. That he wasn’t deliberately giving Enjolras a moment to compose himself before checking back in. That wasn’t what it was.

There were far fewer people on the second floor, and Enjolras averted his eyes from all of the open bedroom doors. He felt pretty sure no cops would show up, but he still didn’t want to witness any illegal activity that would throw him into a moral conundrum.

The third floor was even quieter, so quiet Enjolras could hear the murmured voices of his friends before he reached Courfeyrac’s bedroom all the way at the back of the hallway in the top corner of the house.

The three of them were lying on the bed. Bossuet had a Rubik’s cube in his hands, and Enjolras could see he was making it worse with every twist of the blocks. Joly was playing with a fidget spinner, and Combeferre was fiddling with an Etch-a-Sketch. Trust Courfeyrac to always have all kinds of distractions in his room.

He closed the door softly behind him, and the conversation stopped when the boys heard the click. They looked up, and smiled.

“Hey, you made it!” Joly said, sitting up.

Enjolras toed off his shoes and padded over to the bed, wordlessly sinking down and laying his head on Courfeyrac’s incredibly soft pillows.

Combeferre frowned and threaded his fingers through Enjolras’ hair.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I said something bad to Courfeyrac. Like, really bad.” He briefly recounted the words they’d exchanged, vaguely skipping over his confusing feelings toward Grantaire. Saying it out loud, he couldn’t believe he had gotten so cruel over something so little.

“Well, Courfeyrac really should know better than to poke you like that,” Combeferre said. “But… yikes. That’s not like you, Enjolras.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think _I’m_ like me anymore. I’m more…. I don’t know, _something_ these days. I feel on edge and itchy and just. I don’t know what’s going on. Something’s stirring up and I can’t help it.” He felt the pause between his friends, and when he glanced up he saw them all exchanging looks. “What?”

“Nothing,” Joly said. “It’s good you stood up for yourself. I know that’s Courf’s way, but Combeferre’s right – you’ve been telling him to stop and he really should. As for what you said, well. You’re good with words. I’m sure you’ll find a way to apologize. He’ll understand.”

Enjolras nodded. He let his friends continue to talk above him, enjoying the hum of their conversation. At some point Jehan came upstairs, followed by Bahorel and Feuilly, and he was jostled around as the boys all tried to position themselves on or around the bed. With every click of the door Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat, both eager and terrified to find Courfeyrac.

This time it was Grantaire.

His eyes immediately found Enjolras’ and held his gaze a moment too long. Enjolras squirmed under the scrutiny and looked down at his hands.

“'Sup, everybody,” Grantaire said, joining Bahorel on the small sofa they had pulled up alongside the bed. Grantaire was careful not to look back his way, and Enjolras took the opportunity to study him.

He fit in so well with the group. Everybody seemed to love him. And why wouldn’t they, with his quick wit, his calm demeanor, his perfectly-timed jokes? It bothered Enjolras that he seemed to be the only one who had a problem with Grantaire. Because that meant Grantaire wasn’t the problem, of course – it was himself. So what was the problem? Why did that easy charm bother him? Why did it dig so deep under his skin every time Grantaire bested him in an argument, every time he smiled that wicked grin when he chose the side of the debate he knew Enjolras would hate?

Things used to be so clear to him. He’d show up to the club, pick a fight with Grantaire, and leave arm in arm with his real friends. If they’d only all stayed away from him things would have been normal, and he’d be resting easy in his dislike for the other boy.

But they hadn’t. Despite his combative nature in the club, Grantaire had wormed his way into their hearts outside of it. And it was making life very confusing for Enjolras.

The minutes turned into hours, and Courfeyrac’s bedroom slowly filled with the debate team, seeking refuge from the teenage nightmare happening two floors below them. Somewhere between midnight and 1am, Enjolras turned from a conversation with Eponine to find just about everyone he loved in the room.

And then Courfeyrac came in. Half the crowd got up in cheers to hug their host and to bring him into the circle. The other half, those that had been filled in on the drama, went deadly silent. Courfeyrac matched everyone’s smiles, returning the hugs and compliments. But the act disappeared as soon as he met Enjolras’ eyes.

“E?” he asked quietly. “Can I talk to you?”

Enjolras gulped down his fear, and nodded.

Coufeyrac took him into the hallway, and for a moment they were silent. It was all new territory – Enjolras had never really fought with his friends before, and he imagined Courfeyrac hadn’t either. They were both good at reason and logic, but this wasn’t a debate. This was their hearts, laid bare. He could feel them stepping into bigger shoes than they normally wore, each of them trying to be the man they hadn’t yet become.

“I see you haven’t left yet,” Courfeyrac said, with only a hint of sass in his voice. “Guess you’re not quite ‘ _done’_ then, huh?”

Enjolras broke.

“Courf, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I need you, you know that. You just hit a nerve and I went off.”

Courfeyrac instantly softened. “Hey, don’t apologize,” he said. “I went too far. I don’t know, I’m always teasing people so I guess I thought you were just being coy. I didn’t realize how serious you were about the whole… thing.”

Enjolras nodded, blushing as he looked down at his feet. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m serious.”

And as he said it, he realized he meant it. He was serious about Grantaire, and seriously _confused_ , at that. It was stupid to deny his feelings; Coufeyrac could see them, Grantaire could see them, hell, probably their whole friend group was making bets on when they’d finally hook up.

But just because he had feelings, didn’t mean he had to act on them. And that was the part he needed to figure out.

Courfeyrac took his hand and gave it a squeeze, and Enjolras knew he understood it all. He looked up and gave him a smile. “You’re a really good friend, Courf,” he said.

Combeferre met his eye when the two of them reentered the bedroom, and Enjolras gave him a small nod. Combeferre smiled, and gestured for Enjolras to sit next to him on the hardwood floor.

“Okay people,” Courfeyrac announced, back to his usual peppy self. “I figured all you nerds would hide away up here, so I came prepared.” He walked over to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room (and really, Enjolras never got used to his wealth) and opened it with a flourish, revealing shelves stocked with wine, beer, and cider.

Cosette called out for orders and passed out bottles with the help of Marius, until all twelve of them had cool drinks pressed into their hands. Enjolras knew for a fact that most of them didn’t normally imbibe, and he silently mourned the end of what had been a quiet and calm night. But Courfeyrac had promised them a party, so a party they would get.

They settled into the night easily, reveling in their shared naughtiness while Courfeyrac spilled some gossip from the party they were missing below. Apparently one of their classmates brought his freshman girlfriend and his ex threw a fit. Most of the debate team seemed to know who Courfeyrac was talking about, but Enjolras had no clue. The conversation bubbled up around him, and the group jumped from story to story, the alcohol only fueling their loose tongues.

He took another swig from his beer, and frowned to find he had already emptied it. He looked around self-consciously, trying to see if the others had drunk as quickly as he had. Courfeyrac was pouring himself a second glass of wine, but Enjolras knew Courfeyrac had been drinking with his parents for years – it would take him a much longer time to get sloppy than it would Enjolras.

As he glanced from person to person, finding their drinks half-empty at best, a flurry of movement caught his eye.

Grantaire was lifting his wine glass in a wordless toast, eyes boring into Enjolras even as he took the final sip of his drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave Enjolras a wink, gesturing to their empty glasses. Enjolras swallowed, and forced out a polite smile.

“Before I put this away, does anybody need a refill?” Courfeyrac called out, holding up the wine bottle. He towered over their sitting forms, swaying beautifully on his feet.

“I’m still on my first,” Feuilly answered. He was joined in by a chorus of agreement, each of the friends looking around at each other’s reasonably-full drinks. Enjolras wrapped both hands around his empty beer bottle, hiding its hollowness, but Grantaire raised his empty glass, letting Courfeyrac pour him another.

“My friends, my friends, this simply won’t do!” Courfeyrac pouted. “You’re all sleeping over here tonight, anyway. This is your chance! No parents! No consequences!”

“Alcohol poisoning and vomit are very real consequences,” Marius pointed out, earning a snicker from Bahorel and a gentle smack to the head from Courfeyrac.

“I’m going downstairs to check on the party and when I come back up I expect to see finished drinks.”

Joly and Bossuet joined him downstairs, wanting to get a glimpse of the festivity, and Eponine and Cosette left for the privacy of the bathroom down the hall, even though there was one in Courfeyrac’s room. Combeferre got up to stretch his legs, walking around and touching just about every knickknack he could just to annoy Courfeyrac. Jehan, Bahorel, Feuilly, and Marius also got up, but Enjolras didn’t pay much attention to them, because now it was just him and Grantaire sitting on the floor. Enjolras had his back pressed to Courfeyrac’s bed, and Grantaire was opposite him, leaning against the couch.

Enjolras watched him, watched him pull his phone from his pocket and scroll through an app he couldn’t see. Watched him absentmindedly run his long fingers through his dark curls. Watched him place the glass of wine against his lips and gracefully swallow the purple liquid down.

Watched as Grantaire caught his eye and quirked up a brow.

But Enjolras didn’t look away. He kept watching, noticing he was frowning, and met the gaze with a confidence he chalked up to the alcohol running through his veins.

Grantaire relaxed into a genuine smile, and slid across the floor until their pretzeled knees were touching.

“Glad you didn’t walk out when you showed up tonight,” Grantaire said. Enjolras had never understood him. How he was always so easy-going, always pretending like there was nothing wrong between them. Like Enjolras hadn’t openly admitted to hating the sight of him or hadn’t completely rejected his advances.

He had always thought Grantaire weak, but now he could see just how much strength it took to be Grantaire.

“I guess,” he mumbled out, confidence draining away along with his thoughts.

“Let me get you another beer?” Grantaire asked, taking the empty bottle from Enjolras’ vicelike grip.

“Um,” Enjolras said. Grantaire paused. Then he stood up and offered his hand.

“C’mere,” he said with a jerk of his head. And Enjolras didn’t know why he did it, but he placed his hand in that inviting palm, and let himself be dragged up.

Grantaire didn’t let go, just wove the two of them through their friends, pulling Enjolras into Courfeyrac’s bathroom and locking the door behind them.

“Um,” Enjolras repeated.

Grantaire caught his panicked expression and rolled his eyes.

“Relax, I’m not gonna jump your bones,” he said, annoyed. And although the comment made Enjolras’ mind settle, it did nothing to stop the energy thrumming through his body, the way his heart was suddenly beating faster.

Grantaire still had Enjolras’ empty beer bottle in his hand, and he brought it over to the sink. He let the cold tap run, dipping his finger into the stream until he was satisfied with the temperature. Then he held the neck of the bottle under the water, filling it.

“Courfeyrac will never let you get away with just one drink tonight, and we really don’t need a repeat of the old _‘Respect My Boundaries’_ fight, now do we?” he said conversationally. Enjolras jolted when he realized what those words meant.

“You heard about that?” he asked, face flushing in seconds. Grantaire hummed in agreement, eyes suspiciously trained on the bottle and avoiding Enjolras’ questioning gaze. “How… how much detail… did you…” Enjolras asked, unable to phrase the question as eloquently as he’d have liked.

Grantaire turned off the tap and placed the bottle on the sink counter. He leaned into the cool marble, looking down, and when he finally spoke it was to his hands, not Enjolras.

“I know Courfeyrac has noticed me flirting with you. And that he assumes you’ve been flirting back. And that he has been trying to nudge us together. I also know that he’s been doing it out of love, out of a blind certainty that us being together would be the right thing to happen.”

“A blind certainty?” Enjolras questioned. Grantaire finally looked up, and met his eyes through the mirror. He shrugged.

“Well. You’ve certainly made it clear you have no interest. So Courfeyrac’s weird obsession with our… _lack of_ love life, is, well, misplaced.”

Enjolras nodded. Grantaire’s eyes were so strong as they locked with his own. He could feel the anticipation thick in the air, could sense Grantaire waiting for Enjolras to deny or confirm or have any opinion on their relationship at all. To tell him Courfeyrac was right, that they’d work well together if Enjolras could get over whatever was stopping him.

But he didn’t.

“Well, I’m glad it’s not just me Courfeyrac has been hounding,” he said, breaking the eye contact. “Thanks for the bottle.”

Grantaire nodded, and if he was disappointed, he hid it well. He had practice.

When they exited from the bathroom they saw the whole gang had returned, settling back into their spots on the bed and couch and floor.

Courfeyrac had also returned, and his face lit up with glee when he saw the two boys leaving the room together. Enjolras felt Grantaire stiffen beside him, and he braced himself for whatever Courfeyrac was about to say.

“Oh, guys!” he exclaimed, turning his attention to the group. “I just had a _wonderful_ idea.”

“Oh boy,” Grantaire said softly to himself, and Enjolras couldn’t help but giggle. When he caught Grantaire’s eye the other boy was looking at him funny, and Enjolras felt suddenly self-conscious.

“We should play a _game_ ,” Courfeyrac continued, singing out the last word.

“I’m down,” Jehan said. He was sprawled on the bed, body squished between Eponine and Bossuet.

“What kind of game?” Combeferre asked warily, and when Enjolras looked over at him he caught Combeferre dragging his eyes away from the two boys and toward Courfeyrac. Enjolras hadn’t even noticed Combeferre had been staring.

“What kind of game, indeed,” Courfeyrac said with a shit-eating grin, draping himself in a ridiculously plush armchair. Enjolras rolled his eyes, but said nothing. It would be a while before he would be able to tease Courfeyrac again. No, for now he had to deal with doling out nothing but compliments.

Thankfully, Grantaire didn’t mind rudeness.

“Can you cut the dramatics, please, Courf? Just tell us the damn game,” he said, suddenly walking away from Enjolras and nestling down at the foot of the sofa as he’d been before. Above him, Cosette started to run her fingers through his hair. Enjolras felt something twist in his stomach.

“How about a little Never Have I Ever?” Courfeyrac asked. Marius and Feuilly were quick to agree, but Jehan protested.

“We already know everything about each other, I can’t imagine there’d be any surprises,” he pointed out.

“I promise—” Courfeyrac countered, “—there are _always_ surprises.” Enjolras gulped. “But!” he continued, “You make a fair point. Never Have I Ever is only a distraction, something to fill the time while we play the real game.”

“Which is…?” Combeferre asked.

And Enjolras could swear he saw Courfeyrac look pointedly at him before purposefully turning his gaze away.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven, of course.”

Immediately the room broke into nervous laughter. It was no secret they were a bunch of virginial teens who were a little more than curious about each other. Just because they hadn’t been openly flirting for the past several years didn’t mean they hadn’t all thought about it at least once. And while no one wanted to seem too eager, a shared thrill ran through the group. They were already getting drunk at a house party in a mansion – go big or go home, right?

 _Wrong_ , Enjolras thought, but he kept his cool. With twelve of them there, the likelihood of anyone even landing on him were low. And he knew probably half of them wouldn’t try anything. Hell, only a small handful of them would be brave enough to actually do anything during the game. Chances were the couples would share some excited giggles and maybe a kiss or two, at best.

And so the group agreed.

They would play Never Have I Ever, and if one person had done it, they’d spin a bottle to choose the person who’d join them in Courfeyrac’s walk-in closet. If two people, they’d be the ones at the closet’s mercy. Three or more and the game would continue, each of them safe for another round.

They assembled in a circle on the floor.

Courfeyrac went first.

“Never have I ever… been grounded.”

Two sets of claps rang out. Wide-eyed, Bossuet looked around to find who he’d share the closet with, but when he found Joly’s mirroring expression, the two of them burst into laughter.

“Into the closet, you two!” Courfeyrac claimed.

“Dude, they’re brothers, that’s gross,” Bahorel said.

“No one said they have to do anything! Just because you’re in the closet doesn’t mean you’re consenting to sex or anything,” he explained, irritated already that his game wasn’t working as he’d planned.

Meanwhile, Bossuet and Joly were still laughing as they headed into the smaller room.

“Gets me out of sharing too many secrets!” Bossuet said cheerily, before he pulled Joly into the closet with him and closed the door behind them.

“Make yourself useful and clean up in there, would you?” Courfeyrac called out.

“Yessir!” Joly answered through the door.

Courfeyrac started his stopwatch, and the game continued. Between rounds of questions (“Never have I ever sold drugs,” which earned no claps, and “Never have I ever gotten detention,” which earned six) Bossuet and Joly intermittently called out to Courfeyrac to playfully keep him updated on their cleaning progress.

“Never have I ever kissed someone in this room,” Feuilly said. Enjolras felt his hands tingle, but he hadn’t earned the right to clap them. After a pause, several hesitant claps rang out.

Cosette, Eponine, Combeferre, and Marius all looked awkward from their confessions. Enjolras turned stunned to his best friend.

“What?” he asked, incredulous. Combeferre avoided his gaze.

“Holy shit we need the story on those,” Bahorel said.

“What did we miss?” Bossuet asked from the closet. Bahorel told him.

“And not Courfeyrac? Courf, don’t cheat, surely you’ve made out with someone here,” Joly called. Courfeyrac’s phone beeped, and he opened the closet door.

“Nope,” he said to the two emerging boys, “not yet, at least.”

“No, seriously, though,” Bahorel cut in, “I need to know who’s kissed who.”

“Not part of the rules,” Combeferre said calmly.

“R, you didn’t—?” Jehan asked quietly.

Grantaire was quick to rush in. “Nope, no, never kissed anyone here, never happened.”

Enjolras kept his eyes trained on the bottle in his hands, filled with the cool tap water.

“Well, I’d like to have a turn,” Joly said, flopping down on the floor. “Never have I ever… punched someone in the face.”

And as chance would have it, once again two people could claim they’d done it: Bahorel and Jehan. They looked at each other with a mix of excitement and embarrassment, both of which only amplified with the hollering and jeering coming from their friends. Wordlessly they got up, resigned and amused expressions on their face, and entered the closet.

“Now _that’s_ something I’d want to watch,” Courfeyrac said, earning him a _tsk_ from Cosette. “Your time starts now!” he called out, pressing his timer.

“Remember that door is paper-thin,” Joly warned. It was true: almost immediately Enjolras could hear the murmur of a conversation starting behind that door. From across the room he couldn’t make out their words, but he imagined someone closer, like Courfeyrac, could hear every sound they were about to make.

“Everyone shut up, I’m trying to listen!” Courfeyrac said as the game started up again. He kept his ear pressed to the door, and Enjolras was somewhat glad it wasn’t just his own privacy Courfeyrac had a penchant for invading.

“Never have I ever…” Bossuet began, but he was cut off by Courf’s wildly waving hands. Bossuet raised an eyebrow.

“I hear a zipper opening!” Courfeyrac hissed. The two girls booed him, with Eponine telling Marius to drag him away from the door. Grantaire, though, passed Courfeyrac a thumbs-up and a lascivious grin. Combeferre muttered something under his breath, but Courfeyrac kept his ear to the door.

“Never have I ever peeped on someone,” Bossuet finished pointedly. Courfeyrac refused to clap, claiming that listening was different than peeping.

The minutes ticked by and the questions came quicker. Enjolras found himself sitting out most of the dirtier rounds, but clapped for nearly every school offense, including failing a class, much to the group’s surprise.

“Never have I ever,” Grantaire started. “Hmmm, never have I ever…”

In the silence of his thinking, a high-pitched moan escaped from behind the closet door. With manic glee, Courfeyrac whipped his head to look at each face in the circle, something of an I-told-you-so on his lips. But none of them could blame him; the debate team was looking around at each other with surprise and excitement. This was the sexiest thing that had happened in their nerdy lives, and any respect they held for their friends’ privacy flew out the window as they shared in the shock of what was happening a few feet away from them.

The game had gotten serious, and they all knew it.

Courfeyrac shushed them, though unable to control his own giggles, and gestured for Grantaire to continue.

“Never have I ever committed a felony,” Grantaire finished quickly.

Enjolras clapped.

No one else did.

The room broke into a cacophony of sound.

“You _did_?”

“What?”

“A felony? Not a misdemeanor, but a _felony_?”

“Jesus, I thought that was a giveaway round, I never would have asked it.”

Enjolras was panicking, and not just because of his impending round in closet.

“Wait, I thought you all knew! You’re not gonna turn me in or something, right?” he asked, ignoring the questions and attention.

“Knew what? What fucking felony did you commit?” Eponine asked.

Courfeyrac was doubled over in laughter. “Oh my god, E, you know this means you have to spin the bottle, right?”

Enjolras did know. But he didn’t see what was so funny.

“Wait, let him tell the story, Courf!” Marius insisted.

“It was the mayor’s house, last year. That was me. I thought you all knew,” Enjolras explained.

A year ago the town had passed a ridiculous new tax, one that preyed upon the poorer families and left the megarich neighborhoods, like the one he was currently sitting in, alone. They had all agreed it was unfair and decided to host a debate with the mayor. The mayor refused, on the grounds that the tax had already passed and a debate couldn’t change that. Grantaire, one of the least-affluent in the group, had growled that someone should throw a brick through the mayor’s mansion. And well, Enjolras had.

“Fuck, that was _you_?” Courfeyrac asked, incredulous and laughing even harder. Enjolras shrugged.

The timer beeped, a welcome distraction, and Courfeyrac banged on the closet door.

“I hope everyone’s decent because I’m opening this door in two seconds!” he called out.

“Courf, don’t—” Cosette warned, but it was too late. Courfeyrac pulled on the latch and swung the door open.

Thankfully, Bahorel and Jehan were fully dressed. Jehan’s hair, on the other hand, was significantly messier than it had been when the two had walked into the closet, and Bahorel was actually blushing – something Enjolras had never seen before.

They were met with wolf whistles, which they accepted gracefully as they gingerly took their seats opposite each other. They only glanced at each other once, the embarrassing reality flooding back in as they rejoined their friends.

“What did we miss?” Jehan asked innocently, refusing to indulge the group with any details.

“Enjolras committed a felony so now he has to kiss someone,” Marius said jovially.

“No one said I had to kiss anyone,” Enjolras grumbled. “I just have to go into that stupid closet.”

“Shame, bro,” Bahorel said. “I totally would have clapped with you had I been here. Then again, not sure I could handle another round in there,” he said, finally breaking his stoicism as he grinned over at Jehan, much to the delight and catcalls of their friends.

Courfeyrac placed an empty bottle in the middle of the circle.

“Enjy-baby, would you do the honors?” he asked sweetly.

Enjolras huffed and placed his hand on the bottle. With any luck he’d get Combeferre, so he could ask him about that mystery kiss. Or maybe one of the girls, who knew he was gay and wouldn’t try anything. Marius seemed terrified at the prospect of any kind of sex, and even Courfeyrac probably wouldn’t make a move.

He spun the bottle.

Really, he should have known who it would land on. From the second he opened the door to this party, and saw the one face he was hoping to avoid, he should have known his luck was missing tonight. Maybe this was the punishment he never faced for his felony.

If Grantaire was surprised, or nervous, or uncomfortable, he didn’t show it. In fact, he almost seemed to be expecting the bottle that was pointing toward him, and he looked up at Enjolras steadily.

Enjolras couldn’t bear to look any of his friends in the eye.

Wordlessly, he grabbed Grantaire by the upper arm and hoisted him up, uncaring if he was being needlessly mean, and dragged him behind him toward the closet.

“Somebody’s eager!” Joly teased, and Enjolras heard a muffled whack from somewhere in the room.

“Dude, shut up,” Bahorel said softly.

“They’re gonna fucking kill each other,” he heard Feuilly say.

“Or they’re gonna fucking _something_.” He could hear the smile in Eponine’s voice.

“Seven minutes, boys!” Courfeyrac called out to them. And Enjolras was touched to find the suggestiveness absent from his voice. In fact, he thought he heard concern. “Be decent when the time is up, because I _will_ open the door on you.”

Enjolras faced his worried expression with a glare, hoping to convey the passion with which he hated this game, and then the door was slammed closed in his face.

He was alone in the dark with Grantaire.


	2. Chapter 2

“I don’t suppose there’s a light in here?” Grantaire asked, voice far too even for Enjolras’ liking.

“It’s on the outside,” Enjolras replied, familiar with the details of Courfeyrac’s bedroom.

“Ah,” Grantaire replied. “We should have thought of that.”

A sliver of light poured in from under the door (and Enjolras remembered how easily sound slipped through that crack), casting the small room in a light gray, not too difficult to see in.

The room was maybe five feet on all sides: uncomfortably close quarters, but easy enough to avoid touching someone in the dark. Grantaire was standing opposite him, running his hands over the different fabrics of Courfeyrac’s jackets. He turned and faced Enjolras, and his expression was as calm as his voice.

“What do you notice?” he asked, inching closer toward Enjolras. He could feel his heartbeat pick up in speed, could feel butterflies swooping with each step, but he refused to indulge them.

“What?” he asked, getting lost in the held gaze they shared.

“I said,” Grantaire murmured, stepping in so there was only a foot of space between them. His eyes darted down to Enjolras’ lips and back up to his eyes. “What do you notice?”

“I—I—” Enjolras stammered out. Honestly, he didn’t understand the question. Grantaire hummed, and Enjolras felt the sound vibrate around him.

“It’s awfully quiet, no?”

His face was so close and Enjolras felt like an animal, trapped in the snare of those eyes, shining even in the dark room. Suddenly, Grantaire pulled away, and he pounded a fist on the closet door.

“Keep talking, perverts,” he called out. Silence – that’s what Enjolras hadn’t noticed. His friends were silent, hoping to listen in on their seven minutes.

“Never have I ever…” someone started loudly from the other side. Grantaire rolled his eyes, looking annoyed at their predicament for the first time as he walked back to Enjolras.

“So,” he said conversationally, as if they were early for a debate meeting and filling the time with small talk.

“So,” Enjolras whispered.

A second passed. Their expressions shifted. The air changed. Choices beckoned.

Grantaire tucked one of Enjolras’ loose blonde curls behind his ear. His touch was warm where it met his skin.

“What would you do if I tried again?” Grantaire asked, and his voice was so earnest, so hopeful, and yet stupidly confident, like he already knew the answer Enjolras would give. Slowly, giving Enjolras the chance to back out at every moment, he lifted his hand to Enjolras’ face, until his palm was molded over his cheek and his thumb was tracing his lips. Enjolras let them part. “Would you stop me?” Grantaire whispered, moving closer with each second.

And with only millimeters of distance between their lips, Enjolras breathed out _no._

Grantaire tasted like wine beneath his mouth, and for a moment Enjolras panicked, thinking that he was making an intoxicated mistake. But he hadn’t had anything to drink except that one beer, and he’d noticed Grantaire had stopped after that second glass. No – if this was a mistake, he had no one to blame but himself.

Grantaire’s lips were smooth and firm, pressing into his with insistence. It was nothing like the few and awkward kisses he’d had before. Grantaire knew what he was doing, knew what he _wanted_. And if Enjolras shut up his mind for two seconds and listened to his body instead, he knew he wanted the very same thing.

Grantaire pressed the length of his body against Enjolras’ with the urgency of a ticking clock and the threat of an opening door, one that would break whatever magic was wrapped around them in this small room. Enjolras pressed back, and discovered they were both hard.

Grantaire released him from the kiss and pulled back, looking into Enjolras’ eyes.

“You know I like you a lot, right?” he asked. Enjolras nodded. “Like, I actually like you, it’s not just physical.” Enjolras paused, then nodded again. Their hips were still glued together. “I want to make you feel good,” Grantaire continued. Enjolras felt his mouth go dry. Grantaire pressed a hand to his chest, and leaned in so his lips were by Enjolras’ ear, the one farther from the door. When he spoke again, his voice took on an unrecognizable quality, and Enjolras found it thrilling. “I want to show you I can be good to you. I can take care of you.” His hand was moving down, over Enjolras’ stomach now. “But all you have to do is tell me to stop, and I will. Promise.” His hand had stilled right at Enjolras’ waistband, over the metal of his belt. Grantaire pulled back an inch to look into Enjolras’ eyes. He couldn’t imagine what his own face looked like, but _god._ Here in this limbo, in this dark room where they were hidden away from the world, Enjolras finally admitted that Grantaire was _hot._

And he was, after all, nothing more than a teenage boy. He stared back at Grantaire, and the command went unuttered, a silent order for Grantaire to _not_ stop, to keep going and to take what he wanted to take. Enjolras was nervous, but nerves had never stopped him before.

Grantaire smiled, soft and genuine and dopey, and he leaned back in to whisper in Enjolras’ ear.

“I need you to do something for me, E,” he said. Enjolras nodded below him. “All our friends are waiting on the other side of the door to hear something. So I need you to put on a show. Can you do that for me?”

Enjolras turned his face, questioning. Surely Grantaire wasn’t expecting him to make this liaison public knowledge? If so, all bets were off and he would walk out that door that instant. Grantaire understood his hesitation, and continued.

“I want you to debate me.”

And fuck if Enjolras hadn’t ever been more turned on in his life. His desire was written all over his face, he was sure of it, but he felt no shame because he found it mirrored on Grantaire’s. Grantaire licked his lips, and then bit down hard on Enjolras’ neck. And as much as he wanted to moan, Enjolras let out an exclamation instead.

“What?” he near-shouted, and he heard the room hush on the other side of the door. “You think free public education is _bad_?” Grantaire chuckled on his neck, licking and kissing at a spot inside his collar, a spot he knew he could hide.

“Good one,” he whispered, and Enjolras preened at the praise.

“Yes, free education would even the playing ground, but that’s a good thing,” Enjolras said loudly, weirdly finding it easy to concentrate on his words even as his body thrummed with pleasure. He reached up and placed his hands in Grantaire’s hair, hesitantly, but when the boy moaned, Enjolras took it as consent to tug them as he’d been thinking about all evening. All year, if he was being honest with himself, which he really didn’t want to be.

Grantaire’s hand returned to his belt, and Enjolras whimpered.

“Don’t forget your lines,” Grantaire whispered.

“Public – public education for everyone would ultimately make our society stronger, not weaker,” he stated. Grantaire’s hand slipped lower, palming him over his jeans. He pulled those curls harder, refocusing his exhilaration away from embarrassing noises that his friends could all hear to an embarrassing desperation that only Grantaire could wield against him.

Grantaire shifted their position, slipping a leg between Enjolras’, rubbing their hips together. His hand moved back up, finding Enjolras’ belt again.

“Because once an elite degree doesn’t mean anything, it’s easier for everyone to find jobs,” Enjolras continued, thrilling in the dirty secret of his multitasking. “Ivy degrees actually make the job market more competitive for _everyone_.”

Grantaire was undoing his belt, moving his mouth down to Enjolras’ chest. Then his button was undone, his zipper wrenched open, and Grantaire’s hand was on his cock.

It was all moving so fast, far faster than he had imagined his first sexual experience would be. But he also wondered if he ever would have gotten here at all, without the pressure of the game breathing down their necks. And frankly, he’d take a rushed rutting with Grantaire in the dark over another night with just his hand.

His thoughts surprised him as they entered his brain. He had always been so focused on work, so uncaring about love and sex and romance. Grantaire was taking him apart, and despite the new sensations, he felt safe.

“Really, Grantaire, you of all people should be an advocate for free education,” he forced out, more turned on than he’d ever been. Grantaire’s hand stilled on his dick.

“Ouch,” he whispered, wounded. Enjolras’ eyes widened, afraid he’d said something terrible, too true, but then Grantaire gave him a quick kiss. “They’ll totally buy that,” he said with a wink, then continued his stroking.

Enjolras let his head fall back with a _thunk_ , earning him an amused yet wide-eyed stare from the other boy, and he realized his mistake with a giggle. Grantaire twisted his hand, and the giggle turned into a groan.

“Shit, did you hit your head?” Grantaire asked, purposefully raising his voice to be heard in the bedroom.

“Don’t kill yourselves in there!” Courfeyrac called out from the other side of the door. “You’ve got one more minute, by the way.”

“Fuck off, Courf!” Enjolras called back, trying to control his breathing. “I’m trying to win an argument here!”

Grantaire laughed quietly, and then sank to his knees.

“What?” Enjolras breathed out in disbelief, looking down. He tugged at Grantaire’s hair to stop him, a protest of _you don’t have to_ building on his tongue. But Grantaire could read him like a book, and looked up at him in the darkness.

“I want to, but if you don’t, just tell me,” he said, keeping the rhythm of his hand.

“You want to?” Enjolras asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Grantaire replied.

And well, who was Enjolras to deny Grantaire what he wanted? (Really, Enjolras spent most of his waking hours denying Grantaire what he wanted, but this was not the time to dwell on that.)

Grantaire lowered Enjolras’ jeans past his hips, and took his cock in his mouth.

Enjolras had no idea how many times Grantaire had done this before, and couldn’t quite tell if he had any skill or technique. But no matter if he was just as inexperienced as Enjolras or if he was a pro, Enjolras was loving every second of it.

“No generation has been in debt like we are, Grantaire, and no matter the individual benefits one might earn from a private university, the collective benefits of public education far outweigh them!” he shouted. His hands were tight in Grantaire’s hair, but if the boy minded he didn’t say anything. He just sucked harder, and Enjolras was about two seconds from finishing. “Everyone has a right to education, and I won't let mine go to waste!”

Grantaire smoothed his hands over the back of Enjolras’ thighs, and rubbed them up until they were cupping his ass. He squeezed, and gave a particularly delicious swirl of his tongue, and then Enjolras was coming silently into his mouth.

He was useless after his orgasm, letting Grantaire pull his pants back up and readjust his collar. He saw Grantaire wipe the back of his mouth, the same gesture as when he’d wiped away his wine earlier that night, and ran a hand through his hair until his curls were falling back into shape.

“Time!” Courfeyrac called from the bedroom. He knocked twice on the door, then opened it abruptly, light spilling into the dark closet. Enjolras squinted against it, grateful to have an excuse for his disorientation. Grantaire didn’t look back as he wordlessly reentered the bedroom, not waiting for Enjolras as he took his seat.

“Really, E? ‘ _You of all people?_ ’” Jehan chastised, clearly unaware those earlier words had all been a front.

“Don’t worry, Jehan,” Grantaire said, still avoiding Enjolras’ eyes, “I’ve heard worse. Water under the bridge.”

Enjolras emerged from the closet and stumbled his way over to Combeferre. He felt a little shell-shocked. The high had been so unexpected, so quick, and _so great_ , and then the moment had been ripped away from him so suddenly. All he knew was that he needed to throw Grantaire back in that closet and either talk about it, or do the exact opposite of talking.

“Trust Enjolras and Grantaire to spend their seven minutes fighting,” Feuilly grumbled.

“You okay?” Combeferre asked quietly beside him. Enjolras nodded, and took a swig of his fake beer.

“Didn’t want to go in that damn closet,” he mumbled. He could feel Combeferre’s eyes lingering on him, probing, but then he remembered Combeferre had apparently kissed someone without telling him, and he figured he was allowed a secret of his own.

Great, his bad mood was rushing back.

“Are we still playing this dumb game?” he asked Courfeyrac, who was looking all kinds of apologetic. He watched Courfeyrac take in the room around him. The way Cosette had passed out on Joly’s shoulder, the way Marius was trying and failing to keep his eyes open, the yawn Bahorel was stifling.

“Let’s just go to sleep,” Courfeyrac answered quietly.

And so they did. As the night turned to morning, as Courfeyrac swept the stragglers out of his mansion, as Bossuet and Joly sandwiched Combeferre on the bed, as Jehan tucked the down quilt over them before lying horizontally across their feet, as Eponine joined Cosette on the couch and nestled against her, as Marius passed out on the soft carpet, as Feuilly and Bahorel tumbled into a pile of plush pillows, and as Grantaire tucked himself into Courfeyrac’s throne-like armchair, Enjolras watched his friends turn themselves over to sweet unconsciousness.

He was standing there, too tired to move, when Courfeyrac returned, house emptied and locked. He looked sober, tired, and Enjolras realized they had all grown up a little bit that night.

Courfeyrac approached him and smoothed a hand over his blonde curls. “Get some sleep, Enjolras.”

And it didn’t bother Enjolras that all of the furniture was occupied. Because Enjolras had grown up in this house just as much as he had in his own. He remembered where Courfeyrac kept the extra blankets and pillows and cushions. He had made enough forts in this room to know.

So he returned to the closet, that place of old childhood wonder and new teenage fantasies. He reached up to the top shelf in the back and tugged down a soft quilt. Standing there in the dark, running his hands over the smooth purple, the color of wine and bruised lips, he allowed himself a brief moment of happiness. The post-coital bliss he’d been denied not twenty minutes earlier. He remembered hesitant hands and hungry lips. He remembered chuckles into his collarbone, hums into his hips. He remembered being protected, being exposed, being safe, being reckless. He remembered Grantaire, and how much he wanted him.

He smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

The squeak of the hardwood by his head woke him up. His cheekbone on his right side was aching, and he realized his face was on the ground. Why was his face on the ground?

The hardwood squeaked again, and Enjolras opened his eyes. It all flooded back.

His face was on the ground because his _body_ was on the ground, tangled in a mess of blankets that he had escaped at some point in the night, his dream-state preferring the cool floor instead, apparently. There were other bodies on the ground, too – Feuilly and Marius and Bahorel and Courfeyrac. The rest were tucked away in beds and on couches.

But if the others were in beds and on couches, why were the floorboards squeaking?

Enjolras rolled over with a groan, and the noise stopped abruptly.

Grantaire was at the door, the dawn that broke through the window revealing the surprise on his face as their eyes connected. He was fully dressed, shoes and jacket and all, and that ratty backpack Enjolras hated so much was slung over his shoulder, the strap fraying to the point of concern even as Enjolras knew by now it wouldn’t break.

Grantaire was at the door, and something in his body told his mind that mattered. It took a second for him to remember why.

And then he was throwing what was left of his blankets off him, careful not to jostle Courfeyrac as he got up, panicked. Grantaire didn’t make to leave, but his expression only grew more guarded.

Enjolras stood there, his body an island in that familiar room, squinting against the light but refusing to look away from eyes so bright.

When it became clear neither of them knew what was supposed to happen next, Grantaire turned back to the door and soundlessly turned the knob. He didn’t look back as he slipped into the shadow-cast hallway, but he left the door open behind him.

Enjolras followed him through it.

Silently, wordlessly, doggedly, he followed Grantaire through the house. Down the stairs that led to the second floor, around the hallway that led to the next set of stairs. Over carpet and tile and marble, until Grantaire was turning the front-door key lodged in the lock, and the cold morning air rushed into the empty mansion.

Grantaire stepped onto the stone outside, and Enjolras caught his arm. He tugged, and Grantaire turned around, facing him.

 _God_ , what a face. All of the feelings Enjolras had been keeping at bay suddenly burst through the dam, spilling into his veins and his lungs. It was terrifying, but Enjolras had never been one to back down from fear.

He tightened his grip on Grantaire’s arm, pulling him closer still. Grantaire’s face was all eyes, the rest of him dulled in the shadow of the morning. Those eyes said more than words ever could. They said _please_ and _don’t_ and _closer_ and _leave._ They said yes and they said no, and they said a million words jumbled in sentences Enjolras couldn’t read yet.

Grantaire’s hand met Enjolras’ where it was wrapped around his elbow, and pried until Enjolras’ fingers loosened unwillingly below him.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Grantaire whispered, his voice a hum in the morning.

“Stay,” Enjolras said. His hand flexed. It wanted.

Grantaire only shook his head. “I need to be alone right now.”

 _Please, closer,_ Enjolras thought. _Don’t leave_. He tried to understand the paragraphs flickering through Grantaire’s eyes.

“I…” he started. _I don’t want to be alone right now._ “Why did you stop yourself?”

It was clear Grantaire wasn’t expecting that question. He stepped back, and his mouth turned down. “What?”

“In the debate room. Two weeks ago. You stopped yourself before you kissed me.”

“No I didn’t. Enjolras, _you_ stopped _me—”_

“I didn’t.” The memory was all wrong, the story that had been whispered through their friends. Enjolras wasn’t to blame. He _wasn’t._ “I never stopped you, you stopped yourself before I could—”

“You don’t want me!” Grantaire cried, his voice cracking as it hit the chill in the air. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, looking anywhere but at Enjolras. “I _know_ you, Enjolras. You want _someone_ , maybe. You want to be kissed and touched and you want someone to be there when you’re upset or tell you a joke when you’re bored. But you don’t want _me._ And I’m trying to be the good guy here, so please, _please—”_ his voice cracked again “—don’t make this harder for me. Let me let you go.”

Enjolras was silent for so long that Grantaire’s eyes eventually wandered over back to his. They said _please_ and _please_ and _please._

“Don’t tell me what I want,” he whispered, furious and heartbroken and confused and still too damn tired. Grantaire whimpered, but he kept his ground even as Enjolras moved closer. “Tell me you’re not serious about this, tell me it’s just a game, _tell me you’re afraid_ but don’t tell me I don’t want you.” His hand found Grantaire’s arm again, but he only touched it, lightly. “I want you.”

He leaned in, slowly, letting the magnetism between their mouths pull him forward lazily. He could feel Grantaire’s warm breath before him.

“I am afraid,” Grantaire whispered, and then Enjolras swallowed the words with a dry kiss. The pressure in his lips said _you’re safe_ but the thrumming of his heart was proof enough that they both were in danger. He didn’t care.

Grantaire pulled away first, but he lingered in Enjolras’ space. He looked up, and in his eyes Enjolras could see plain as day that he was not only terrified, but happy.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Enjolras whispered.

Grantaire nodded. His gaze darted down to Enjolras’ lips again, but all too quickly he turned on his heel and deftly jogged down Courfeyrac’s staircase.

At the sidewalk he paused, looking both ways, then looked back at Enjolras, who had his arms folded across his chest against the cold. He was still barefoot.

“Which way is the main road, again?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras felt his lips quirk up, but he pointed right. Grantaire answered with a smile of his own, a nod, and a cheeky salute.

He watched as Grantaire walked evenly down the sidewalk, that damn backpack straining with every movement. He watched until Grantaire reached the corner and turned, watched even after he couldn’t see Grantaire's figure anymore. He touched his fingertips to his lips, tracing them. They smiled beneath his movements, and he felt the proof of his happiness on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! One day I'll write the prequel and fill you in on their backstory, and one day I'll write the sequel and find out what happens at school on Monday. In the meantime, I will continue to love these boys and their slow-burning love.


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